


Running the Banner Down

by starsandgutters



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Roadtrip Fic, and 80s power ballads, and also a fair bit of angst, and random smuttage, everybody knows if you go on a road trip you need lots of classic rock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-20
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgutters/pseuds/starsandgutters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you try your best, but end up left behind and broken-hearted, there's only one way not to end up a Lima loser: get the hell out of town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is - the first part of this somewhat intimidating plot bunny. I've never written anything quite like this, so... it's a bit of an on-the-road adventure for me too.
> 
> (Spoilers for everything up to the mid-season 3 hiatus. It's set after the end of season 3, anyway.)
> 
> Thanks to [](http://epanaphoric.livejournal.com/profile)[ **epanaphoric**](http://epanaphoric.livejournal.com/) for her patient, thorough beta work, and to [](http://overlimits.livejournal.com/profile)[ **overlimits**](http://overlimits.livejournal.com/) for bouncing ideas around with me and taking a first look at this!

 

 **Prologue**  
   
 _I never thought I’d die alone: another six months, I’ll be unknown._  
 _Give all my things to all my friends.  
You’ll never step foot in my room again, you’ll close it off, board it up._  
 _Remember the time that I spilled the cup of apple juice in the hall?_  
 _Please, tell Mom this is not her fault._  
   
*  
He hadn’t thought it would be so hard. In his mind it had been simple: he would only need to pack a few items, just like every heroic runaway in the movies. But it was so damned _hard_ to leave behind all the stupid little things in his room. His comic collection, his favourite football, his—his _drums._  
   
A tight knot formed in Finn’s throat, refusing to let go, as he looked around, surveying the mess scattered over his floor. But then, he replayed in his mind the events of last year, and suddenly his belongings didn’t seem so important anymore; on the contrary, they seemed alien, foreign; they didn’t belong to _him_ at all. Perhaps to the _old_ him, and well, that was someone he didn’t care to be anymore. Which was a pity, because everyone else had _loved_ that guy.  
   
The difference to how things stood now was staggering.  
   
His football trophies glinted sardonically at him in the dim light of the room. He’d been so _proud_ of them! He always _had_ been a loser, but at least back then, he’d still felt things might change one day. God, he really _was_ the moron everyone thought him to be.  
   
Biting his lip, Finn weighed his backpack in his hand. Light enough. There was still room for a few things. He grabbed a book, hidden in his nightstand drawer: ‘The Catcher in the Rye’. His class had been given it as an assignment during the first term of senior year, and he’d never completed it. That, however, didn’t mean he hadn’t _liked_ it, or that he didn’t like reading. Sure, it wasn’t as great as video games, but it could still be pretty cool. Only, it always took him a while to figure out what the author was getting at, and everyone would always treat him like a moron when he asked. Much better to just never mention so much as cracking a book open.  
   
Shoving the book inside his backpack, he wished for a moment he still had the baby blanket his father had gotten him. Not that he would _sleep_ with it or anything, just… for comfort. To have something of _home_ along the way. But no, the blanket was still with Quinn. She had given up the baby, but kept the blanket, and then she’d wanted the baby back, too . Quinn had always wanted it all. And Finn had got none of it. Bitterness rose in his throat like bile at the thought of the baby girl he’d believed – _wanted_ – to be his, and he swallowed it down, grabbing his army knife from the bottom of his wardrobe (his Mom had forgotten to hide it again).  
   
The thing was, the whole ‘not living up to people’s expectations’ thing had gotten pretty old pretty fast. He was supposed to be the golden boy, wasn’t he? Starting quarterback, Glee club leader, and his grades weren’t _that_ bad. Well… not as bad as Brittany’s, at least. All the girls had crushed on him. And a boy, too.  
   
But two years down the line, and what was he? An unexceptional quarterback on  a mediocre team. Sure, since Coach Beiste had stepped in, they might not have sucked as badly as they’d used to, but the Titans were definitely not scholarship material... and neither was he. Just another misfit in a club that didn’t _need_ a leader anymore, and definitely didn’t want _him_ to have that job, each and every one of its members clear-minded and heading for their own personal dreams. And finally… the boy who’d thought he was too good for Quinn, and had turned out not to be good enough for Rachel.  
   
(And that was in a whole different chapter as far as heartbreak went. Rachel had been… well, she was everything that was hurting Finn right now, times a thousand. He’d thought she was the love of his life, and for a few crazed, brilliant moments, he’d thought he was hers, too. It still burned far too much to think about, so he wouldn’t, okay? Okay.)  
   
Still, he had friends. Tons of them. Well, people he could hang with, at least. When it came to people he could count on and open his heart to… well, Finn only really had one such person left, and that person was packing away suitcase after suitcase of clothes for his inevitable move to New York, where he’d wait for his boyfriend to join him so they could live out their fantasy of… God-knew-what; a sock-less world of matching bowties, Vogue issues, and canaries chirping from bedazzled cages?  
   
 _Kurt Anderson._ Even thinking about it made Finn shudder; he wasn't quite sure why, he was totally cool with gay dudes, and wanted Kurt to be happy, but... he just didn't _like_ Blaine, alright?  
   
In any case, Kurt and Rachel and Blaine planning to move to the city that never sleeps together left Finn sleepless for his own personal reasons.  
   
He had… absolutely no idea what he wanted to do with himself. He knew, just _knew_ he wouldn’t make it in the Big Apple (honestly, when had he ever been special enough for something like that?), but whenever he thought about staying behind in Lima his chest constricted and he felt panic creeping into his bones.  
   
All in all? He’d never felt more lost. He’d never felt lonelier.  
   
He wasn’t sure when, how, or why the idea of leaving on a trip had worked its way into his brain. God knew, it wouldn’t lead to any tangible benefits, or change his situation in the least. But if nothing else, it would let him escape the disappointed, pitying stares everyone levelled at him upon finding out he was biding his time working at Burt’s garage while they were headed off into the sunset to _live the dream._ Besides, he didn’t have any summer plans: with Blaine off at Six Flags, Rachel and Kurt were going to spend their time apartment hunting in New York, everyone would just be so _busy_ , and… yeah.  
   
He hadn’t told anyone, though. He was sure they would say it was a totally lame idea, and how could he be so immature? Finn could see it clearly in his mind’s eye—Quinn’s scoff, Rachel’s eyeroll, Santana’s cutting remarks, Kurt’s raised eyebrow. No thanks. If he _had_ to be lame, at least he didn’t want people getting down on him for it. Puck was the only one who might take kindly to the idea, but Finn had the sneaking feeling if he brought his bro along, their “ride on the wild side” would very rapidly turn into a ride on the criminal side, and that just wouldn’t do. Besides, he really needed to do this on his own. Except…  
   
Except, of course, his Mom would never, ever let him. He might be 18 now, but to her, he was still the same clumsy kid who she didn’t trust with a _goldfish_ (not that he could blame her, honestly); hence the secrecy. Guilt had weighed heavy on his heart at the thought of keeping his _big plan_ bottled inside – if there was one thing he was not designed to do, it was lie – but, he figured… it would all work out in the end. After all, at the rate things were going, leaving would probably hurt _him_ the most; people around him would scarcely have time or mind to miss him. And yes, he knew he was giving himself a freaking huge pity party, but he’d tried not doing that, and none of them had been any the wiser for it…  
   
So.  
   
Backpack, duffel bag with clothes, sleeping bag, car keys, all his savings (he’d gone and gotten them from the bank one day when Carole had been working late; he’d intended on using them to pay his college tuition, but that hardly mattered now, did it?)…  
   
 He thought about taking his high-school diploma with him, but figured his Mom would want to keep it, as some sort of proof her son wasn’t a complete deadbeat.   
   
Thinking about his mother made Finn’s heart squeeze painfully. He knew that his leaving without warning – even if only for the summer (…or was it?) – would hurt her; she loved him, even if he hadn’t achieved much of anything in his high school years, even if he had failed to get in to anywhere really good like he knew she’d wished for him. But she had a life of her own now, one that didn’t revolve around him anymore, with Burt and Kurt and everything, and… yeah. She’d live. But all in all, she’d probably be the only person Finn would miss once he left. Well… her and Kurt, anyway. Finn wasn’t sure when Kurt had become so important to him – a warm, bright presence flitting in and out of his vision, yet always to be counted upon in times of need – he only knew it felt _good_ , and Finn didn’t want to lose that.  
   
But bigger and brighter things were in Kurt’s destiny than having to deal with his washed-up kinda-almost-brother, so it wasn’t fair to want him to stick around. And Finn wasn’t going to be that kind of friend. Brother. Friend. Whatever.  
   
He took a deep breath, looking around his room one last time. He’d been happy here, although it seemed like a lifetime ago. There were so many things he loved, but so little he actually needed. Life was funny that way, and Finn Hudson was learning it for the first time in his young years.  
   
He pushed the door open quietly. Going downstairs without waking anyone (or tripping over his own feet) would be a challenge.  
   
 _(You can do it, Finn, you can do it_ , he repeated in his mind like a mantra. _Stealthy like a ninja. Silent like a… silent thing.)_  
   
When he reached the hall, he still couldn’t believe he’d done it. The clock on the wall glared at him, hands pointing out the time – 3.40 in the morning. On the shelf beneath it, a tiny, funny-shaped object caught Finn’s attention; Kurt’s crazy hippo brooch. A half-smile tugged at Finn’s lips – that boy really _was_ something, wasn’t he? He picked the brooch up, wondering if Kurt would miss it. Well, of _course_ he would, Kurt was a freaking maniac about _all_ of his stuff, but…  
   
Finn shrugged, and pocketed the small object. After all, Kurt was going to get his Xbox with all of his Tekken games (and Finn _knew_ Kurt loved those, no matter how much the boy tried to deny it) so it was only fair that Finn got something, too.  
   
For the hundredth time, he considered leaving a note. He’d thought about it, picturing a thousand different messages in his mind, but words always had a way of turning against him when he least expected it, fading into entirely different nuances, shifting treacherously under his feet like quicksand, never enough to express what he really meant. Eventually it was simply too disheartening to bother with it.  
   
He unlatched the front door – the sound ominously loud to his hyper-aware ears – then locked it behind himself once he was out (it was a risk, but what if some weirdo broke into the house and robbed his parents or beat up Burt or tried to do horrible things to his Mom or Kurt? Not cool, man. _Not. Cool._ )  
   
His eyes strayed to the mailbox, and he weighed the keys in his hand for a moment. Surely, even if he was leaving, he would still be a part of the family, right? They wouldn’t shut him out or anything. He had a right to keep his keys, didn’t he…?  
   
He closed his eyes briefly, his brow creasing. Then, taking a heavy breath, he reached forward, dropping the keys into the mailbox with a loud _clunk_. Fair was fair. He’d let everyone down – himself included – so if they wanted to let _him_ down by not wanting him back… he’d have to live with it. He shuddered, and told himself it was the wind.  
   
It was pretty chilly for late June, and the cool night air against his skin woke him up fully, although he’d never gone to sleep in the first place. Beneath the crushing weight of his frustration, confusion and sheer loneliness, he could feel a twinge of excitement struggling to rise to the fore.  
   
Heading to the barely-held-together piece of junk that passed for his car, he slung his meagre luggage into the backseat. He knew his Mom and Kurt were light sleepers, and one or both of them would probably hear the engine as it roared and sputtered to life, but that wasn’t an issue. By the time they realised he was gone, it would be too late. Hell, he’d even pushed both pillows under the bedsheets, because _duh,_ he’d watched _those_ movies.  
   
His skin tingled with nerves and excitement. Before the sun rose, he’d be far, far away from Lima. Headed where… he hadn’t decided yet.  
   
Sitting in the driver’s seat and looking at the familiar streets in front of him, Finn allowed himself one last regretful thought about the promising young man Finn Christopher Hudson had been, and the train wreck  he’d managed to become in less than three years.  
   
Then he turned the key in the ignition, and pressed his foot firmly to the gas.  
   
*

 _I never conquered, rarely came. Sixteen just held such better days._  
 _Days when I still felt alive, we couldn’t wait to get outside._  
The world was wide. Too late to try.

 

**\--TBC**  
  



	2. First Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No, I don’t know where I’m going_  
>  _But I sure know where I’ve been_  
>  _Hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday_  
>  _And I’ve made up my mind_  
>  _I ain’t wasting no more time_  
>  _Here I go again, here I go again._  
>   
>  **_Here I Go Again - Whitesnake_ **  
> 

Kurt Hummel heard the car engine kick into life on some subliminal level of awareness. It didn’t really register into his conscious mind – but it was enough to make him start tossing and turning in his sleep for the following few hours.   
  
At five to 6, finally snapping completely awake, he slung his legs over the bed and headed groggily downstairs to make some coffee.   
  
He never knew if it was a sixth sense or just a random impulse that made him look out of the window and see the empty parking spot where Finn’s old beat-up car should be; but somehow, running upstairs to his brother’s bedroom, he knew exactly what he was about to find.   
  
In spite of the untouched mess on the floor and the pathetic pillow ploy, Finn was obviously gone.   
  
*   
  
Finn drove for the remainder of the night. In spite of what everyone said about him, he might be dumb, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that in the morning – if not earlier, heck – his family would find out he was gone; if he stopped too soon, it would be a piece of cake to track him down and bring him back. He just needed to get far enough to make people lose his tracks. Hit the highway, then take a secondary road, didn’t matter which one, as long as it got him    
_out._   
  
He kept his cell phone turned off, knowing all too well he would find it overloaded with missed calls and texts later. Well… from his Mom, anyway. He wasn’t sure any of his friends from Glee club – much less from the sport teams – would care enough to call. Still, his Mom would, and he felt bad for basically shutting the phone in her face, but he really needed to save the battery, and… he didn’t want to risk the chance of being persuaded to come back. No, he was going to    
_do_   
 this.   
  
So he kept driving, stopping at every gas station he found open, caffeine and adrenaline zinging through his veins even as tiredness crept into his bones.   
  
A small thrill ran down his spine, feverish, when he crossed the state line. Indiana. Yes, it might have just been the neighboring state, but Finn Hudson wasn’t a man of the world, so it was still pretty exciting. The highway stretched ahead into the early morning darkness, the silence only broken by the few cars driving past or alongside him.   
  
Strange. When planning his getaway, Finn had thought he would blast some music, he would sing along to some good old fashioned rock’n’roll, but… he found himself reluctant to turn the radio on, as if afraid it would mar the significance of the moment.   
  
He was running away. He    
_had_   
 run away. Starting a new life.   
  
Biting his lip, he drove on in silence.   
  
*   
He was passing through a town called Kokomo when the sun began to rise.   
  
Pulling over to the side of a street in a quiet suburb, he got outside and scrambled onto the roof of the car. His nervous energy was starting to burn out, but that wasn’t why he had stopped.   
  
Finn wasn’t much of an early riser,    
_especially_   
 on weekends or in the summer (seriously, who the hell gets up early when they’re on vacation?), therefore it was a while since he’d last seen the dawn.   
  
He couldn’t remember where he’d been, or with whom. He’d always wanted to watch the sunrise with his girlfriend, but that would have required both of them being happy and carefree and in love. You can’t cuddle up to someone in the quiet of dawn when they’re trying to get you to father their –    
_their_   
 – baby, or when they’re sulking at you for not having enough    
_drive_   
 and letting your talents go to waste.   
  
He pulled his knees up to himself and got a bottle of Coke from his backpack, shivering a little in the breeze, as his eyes remained glued to the sky. He wasn’t with the girl he loved, and he wasn’t on a beach, or in New York, or anywhere really cool; just in a dull small-city neighborhood, by himself, on the top of his beat-up car.   
  
It was still the most beautiful thing he’d seen in a long, long time.   
  
*   
After the sun had risen halfway into the morning sky, Finn slid off the car, stretching his numb, cold muscles, and got back inside. He was really tired by now, and he’d need to crash soon – his eyes were itching with tiredness, but he forced them into staying open – but not for a little while more. Revving the car back into motion, he drove for as long as he could trust himself not to fall asleep. At one point, the landscape whizzing past by the windows  started blurring into one big dusk-gray blot, his eyelids feeling as heavy as if someone had just dropped a cartoony anvil on them, but still he kept going.   
  
He was petrified that someone    
_had_   
 heard him and somehow managed to follow him, even if he’d taken care not to stay on the same route for long. That would be the worst, Finn thought. If his Mom came to get him before he’d even really got away; he would have hurt her,    
_and_   
 he would have failed. Yet again.   
  
He managed another 45 minutes, driving through a small town named Delphi, then pulled over into a semi-deserted gas-station (no way was he going to fall asleep and risk running over another mailman, not that he had any clue what a mailman would be doing on a Indiana highway at dawn).   
  
Finn scrambled his way over to the backseat and unfurled his sleeping bag. Then, remembering just how freaking warm that thing was, he started trying to strip off his t-shirt, somehow managing to bump his head into the roof and punch himself in the face while at it. He’d just wriggled his way inside the warm cocoon when he remembered he should lock the car doors, nearly falling off the seat as he reached for the button.   
  
Finally, he lay back, curling up as best he could in the small space. The morning sun would have made it near-impossible to fall asleep, but Finn, completely burned out from fatigue and nerves, blacked out the very moment he let his eyes drift closed.   
  
*   
  
  
  
Finn woke up sometime after noon, sunlight streaming hotly into the car making him feel like he was stuck inside a pressure cooker. He struggled out of his sleeping bag, his stomach rumbling ominously as he did so. Man, he was hungry.   
  
Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he reached for his cellphone, abandoned on the passenger seat, and turned it on.   
  
There were twelve missed calls (four from home, five from his mom’s cellphone, one from Burt’s and two from Kurt’s) plus a series of increasingly irritated texts from his stepbrother.   
  
_Well, I guess Rachel hasn’t heard yet._   
  
Finn was relieved, because he was sure that as soon as she did, the attempts to contact him would redouble; not exactly because she would    
_worry_   
 for him, but because Rachel    
_loved_   
 a good bout of drama, and she would firmly cast herself as the tragic heroine. He could just see Kurt rolling his eyes as she paced around dramatically, tiny hand clutching at her chest, proclaiming that ‘if anyone can touch his heart and get him to come back, that’s me!’.   
  
…Not to mention she would probably tell everyone she knew, which could get awkward. It was already bad enough as it was; Finn figured his Mom had worked herself into a frenzy and more or less forced Burt and Kurt to call. Why else would they?   
  
_Stop pitying yourself,_   
 scolded a voice in his head whose resemblance to Quinn’s was uncanny.    
_They care and you know it. Especially Kurt._   
  
That was true. Finn knew they cared, really. It was just easier to convince himself only his Mom gave a damn – and she pretty much    
_had to_   
 by job definition, anyway –  because otherwise, he would only be hurting    
_more_   
 people, and… he didn’t need the extra weight.   
  
With a long sigh, he started typing a text to his Mom’s number. Man, he felt more like a piece of shit with each letter he punched in.   
  
_Mom, it’s Finn. I’m sorry if I scared you. I just want you to know I’m all right and nothing bad happened to me. I just can’t be at home right now. I need to be on my own and I know this was bad of me but please try to understand.I’m so sorry but please don’t worry about me. I promise I’ll take care. I love you._   
After looking at the “message sent” screen for a few moments, he started another one, this time less sure what to say.   
  
_Hey, Kurt. I know u’re upset-_   
  
Wait, that sounded arrogant, didn’t it? Kurt was only worrying like any good brother. Finn couldn’t just assume that the other boy was spilling hot tears over his disappearance. In fact, he probably wouldn’t even miss him, especially since he was moving to New York in a month.   
  
_Hey Kurt. I know u’re probably mad at me for just leaving-_   
  
(Yes, this was better. More realistic. People tended to get mad at him a lot.)   
  
_-but I’m ok & there’s nothing 2 worry about. Just need 2 be on my own. Pls try 2 get mom not to worry either. I’ll be fine, promise. I lo-_   
  
He frowned. He had meant the words in the same way he had to his mother, in a    
_family_   
 way, but they just…    
_looked_   
 different when they were written down in the blank space under Kurt’s name. He deleted them.   
  
_I’ll miss u_   
  
He hesitated, biting his lip. It was true, but why admit it and sound like a total girl? What if Kurt didn’t reply “I’ll miss you” back? And even if he did, there was no reason to put that weight on him, was there? Much better to leave it at that. Or…   
  
_Good luck in NY.:]_   
  
He sent the message, his heart strangely heavy for some reason he could not comprehend. Then he turned the cellphone off again, some of the weight removed from his shoulders with the simple gesture.   
  
Putting his t-shirt back on and running his hands through his hair with the only result of messing it up even more, he unlocked the car doors and crawled out, stretching his sore muscles in the warm sunshine. His stomach growled at him again, a clear signal that unless he got some food in there, things would get ugly.   
  
He scoped the surroundings curiously. There were flat lands all around, and some really tall, narrow windmills spinning slowly in the barely-blowing breeze. They didn’t look anything like those cute Dutch windmills he’d seen in school books, but it was still pretty cool.   
  
A sudden rush of excitement seemed to run over him. He was in a new place, on his own, and farther from home than he’d ever been if one didn’t count the New York trip. He could do whatever he wanted, go wherever he wanted,    
_be_   
 whoever he wanted, without constantly being afraid to let people down.   
  
Happily humming a Bon Jovi song under his breath, he reached for his backpack and strolled over to the small shop at the gas station, hoping to find something that passed for actual food.   
  
The shop was cool, air conditioning blasted at full power, dispelling his grogginess bit by bit. Browsing the aisles, he picked up all the stuff Carole and Kurt insisted was bad for him (Slim Jims, KitKats, Doritos, and other such items) but that was more out of principle than actual choice; right now, he was longing for some home-made waffles, or even Kurt’s low-calorie pancakes, with that syrupy sauce that—but well, no matter. Hell, he was a runaway; he could deal with some discomfort.   
  
Heading to the cashier’s desk, he let the handful of junk food tumble on it as he reached for his wallet.   
  
“Howdy! Late morning today?” a cheery voice made him look up, and he noticed the girl sitting behind the desk for the first time.   
  
She was blonde and petite in a way that had nothing to do with Quinn. Her hair framed her face in thick, curling locks, and the twinkle in her bright blue eyes was genuine and playful. She reminded him a little of Brittany, although there was nothing naïve in her bubbly demeanor. She seemed more like… a younger April Rhodes, Finn thought. Only not soaked in alcohol.   
  
“Um… yes, pretty much,” he replied with a weak smile, wondering if it was    
_that_   
 obvious that he had only just woken up. People back home always said he looked kind of sleepy    
_all_   
 the time. He thrust the money at her, shyly.   
  
“Don’t worry, I’m not psychic. You’re the guy who was sleeping in the car, yeah? I saw you on my way here. Do you even fit on that backseat? You looked kinda cramped,” she chirped, counting the change she owed him.   
  
_Shit._   
  
Finn hadn’t counted on anyone seeing him all curled up in his junky car. That hardly made him look like a cool runaway—more like a pathetic kid with no direction.    
_Oh, wait._   
  
“I’m Kayla, by the way.” A brilliant smile and a held-out hand interrupted his disappointed musings.   
  
“Finn,” he said, shaking her tiny hand and feeling grateful she didn’t ask for a last name. Just in case his Mom had the police looking for him or something.   
  
Kayla gave him a small plastic bag, and watched him pensively as he tried to fit all the horribly unhealthy snacks in it.   
  
“Wait, is that what you’re planning to have for breakfast?”   
  
“I, uh…”    
_Great. More judgment, and you only just met this chick._   
“Yeah? I mean I know it’s not really good for you and stuff, but--”   
  
“Oh, I don’t really care about that, I mean whatever, not much the salad type myself. I’m just saying, is it nearly enough? I mean you’re like, giant,” she giggled. “And you kinda look like you’re still growing, too. D’you wanna go for lunch? I know this place that makes like,    
_killer_   
 hashbrowns and a mean cup of coffee. Way better than this crap right here,” she pointed at the automatic coffee dispenser in the shop.   
  
Finn frowned in confusion. “Uh, but… don’t you kinda have to run the shop, or…?”   
  
Shrugging, she hopped onto the counter and swung her legs around. “Nah. It’s my cousin’s, I just help him out. My old folks have another one a few miles away. I do this in the summer for some pocket money, but it’s dead boring, it’s what it is.  ‘cept when some new faces show up,” she concluded, poking his arm.   
  
“Rooooy! I’m goin’out for lunch!” she called out in an unexpectedly loud voice, in the general direction of the toilet door. A non-committal grunt sounded from inside.   
  
Finn followed her outside, squinting against the sun. She was wearing a faded t-shirt  and jean shorts, her tanned, toned legs fitted into cowboy boots.   
  
“Uh, my car’s the other way,” he pointed out hesitantly.   
  
“Yeah, we’re going with mine. I don’t climb into strangers’ cars,” she winked, extracting bubblegum from one pocket and tossing him the half-empty package. It didn’t make much sense to Finn, but then, a lot of things didn’t make sense to him. Shrugging, he popped a piece of gum in his mouth and followed the girl.   
  
**TBC**   



	3. Second Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean_   
>  _She was the best damn woman that I ever seen_   
>  _She had the sightless eyes, telling me no lies_   
>  _Knocking me out with those American thighs._   
>  **  
>  _(You Shook Me All Night Long - AC/DC)_   
>  **

The diner Kayla took him to was a very simple building with an interior that Kurt would probably have described as ‘kitsch’ (Finn wasn’t sure what that meant, but judging from the way Kurt’s nose crinkled when he said it, it wasn’t a compliment.)

They sat down at one of the booths and managed, after some effort, to flag down a bored-looking waitress. Finn had been studying the menu intently, biting his lip as he tried to gauge how much he could spend on food but… screw it. He had just run away, he could celebrate a little. Besides, he was hungry.  _Way_  hungry. His stomach rumbled with lustful satisfaction as the steaming plate of bacon, eggs, french toast and hash browns was laid before him.

“So,” Kayla asked through a mouthful of blueberry pancakes, “what’s your story?”

“Uh? My—oh.” Finn inhaled a particularly tasty piece of bacon. “It’s… nothing glamorous, actually. I just didn’t feel like I belonged back there anymore.”

“Back there, where?” she retorted, propping her chin on her hands interestedly.

“Oh, just… just back home.” Finn dropped his eyes, doing his best impression of a casual, no-past-history stranger. He could hear Puck’s voice in the back of his head:   _Oh, c’mon! Seriously? You’re gonna let the first random chick smoke you out?_      

“That’s not an answer, homeboy; I asked nicely. What’s your story?”

“What makes you think I have one?” he said, defensive, and was surprised when she actually seemed to consider that for a moment, pensive eyes and puckered lips.

“You look like you’ve got a story,” she eventually replied. After years of knowing Brittany, that actually seemed like sound logic to Finn, so he rolled with it.

“Okay, fine. I’m from Ohio, and I only just graduated--”  _Shit! S_ _hould’ve said I was older._ “—And… everyone had these big plans, and… and I didn’t really have any. Well, I had one, I guess. I hoped I’d be recruited for Ohio State, but that wasn’t a  _plan_. More like, a crazy idea.” For a moment, Finn was taken aback by the sharp edge of disillusionment in his own voice.

“Don’t feel bad,” Kayla said, reaching forward to pat his hand lightly. “I mean, Ohio State. You’d have to be like, the best of the best, right?”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scowled, poking at his french toast morosely.

“Sorry,” she added, squeezing his hand. Hers was small but warm, and oddly comforting, like her weird frankness. “But I mean, is that all there is to it? Didn’t get your football scholarship, and you jumped town?”

Well. It didn’t sound very cool when put like that.

“That’s not all. It’s… complicated,” he said, the words pitifully cliched to his own ears.

Kayla sighed, nodding sagely.

“So. What was her name?”

“Wait, how—how did you know there’s a  _her_?” He’d honestly thought only Rachel and Kurt were capable of doing that crazy mind-reading thing.

She shrugged. “There’s always a ‘her’. Unless there’s a ‘him’.”

Finn opened and closed his mouth a few times in outrage. He was just about to reply that he didn’t feel like talking about it, when he realised that-- in fact, he kinda  _did_  want to talk about it.

He hadn’t been able to unload, not back home—Puck and Mike were great bros, but the chances of having a, a— _ladychat_ , his mind helpfully supplied – with them were practically non-existent. Sam, maybe, but he’d been hell-bent on winning Mercedes back all semester.

As for his  _actual_  “bro”, he was way too close to Rachel to make for a good confidante; not to mention, Finn didn’t like the idea of raining all over their New York parade and prove himself even more of a ball-and-chain than he already was.

He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Rachel,” he said, his eyes dropping to the cheap formica table. “She’s… great, really. Beautiful, talented… she, she’s just, y’know… larger than life. And she—she needed someone larger than life, I guess.” He shrugged a little, his fingers mindlessly shredding the paper napkin he’d been playing with. “I don’t know how to be that.”

He raised his eyes briefly, expecting to be either mocked or comforted, but only met a pair of questioning eyebrows.

“I’m gonna need a little more detail than that, Tall’n’brooding. I mean, I hardly  _know_  you, I can’t judge based on that.” The sarcasm in her voice was belied by another kind hand-pat as she stuffed another bite of pancake in her mouth.

Finn blinked. “Oh. I mean… well, she’s a really great singer. Like  _really_  great. Broadway great. And that’s where she’s heading right now. I mean, not Broadway-Broadway, but she’s gonna go to New York. She got accepted into NYADA.”

Kayla’s face scrunched up in bewilderment. “That sounds like a brand of cat food.”

“It’s a  _college!_ ”Finn spluttered a little, but couldn’t hold back a half-laugh. He was so used to NYADA being painted as the eighth wonder of the world, that the thought someone wasn’t awed by it and wasn’t even aware of its existence hadn’t even occurred to him. The notion was… weirdly refreshing.

“It’s the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts,” he explained regardless. “It’s a great school, basically only second to Julliard. And it’s in New York.”

“Is it now? Well, picture me amazed!” she drawled, causing Finn to blush and pick at his napkin some more.  “So why aren’t you going with her?”

“I’m not that good a singer. I was already barely good enough for the local glee club, so… I’m not meant for the big scene.”

“You were in a glee club?” Kayla’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Can you play an instrument?”

“Well, yes! I’m--”

“Ooh, can you play guitar?”

“I—no, I’m… I’m a drummer.”

“Oh,” she sighed, quickly deflating. “Too bad. Guitarists are really cool,” she went on to say in a dreamy voice.

Finn rolled his eyes inwardly. Alright, so Puck was right, guitars  _did_  land you more chicks. He probably should have listened.

“Ah, well. Water under the bridge. But hey, if you were in a glee club you can’t be all that bad, right?”

“I’m not!” Finn replied quickly. “I didn’t say I was  _bad_ , I’m just… not  _good_ , either.”

And that was the crux—his life in a nutshell. Inside him a dam seemed to break painfully, the words flooding out before he’d meant them to.

“A couple years ago, I was like, this cool dude. Got along with everyone, you know? Except then I joined Glee and started really  _thinking_  about stuff and it turned out that… I didn’t really like  _myself._ I thought that football and chicks were the only important things in life, but then everything started changing. And you know, for the first time I was really happy about everything, even with all the troubles we had, only… things kinda went to hell in my last year. I didn’t…” he paused, lost for words, and sipped at his coffee, letting the hot liquid scald his dry lips.

“I realised I had no idea where I was going, or what I was going to do once I got there. And everyone else had their, y’know, their  _vision_  to follow and I had  _nothing._  I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, but then it turned out there was… no one to disappoint. My mom more or less gave up on me ever going to college, and it seems no one else had ever even  _considered_ it. Not that I have any reason to want to go, I’m not like, smart or anything, but… I just didn’t want to be a homestuck loser, you know? It would have been nice if I could climb my way outta there. But…” he spread his hands helplessly. “That’s that.”

He looked up again and was met with Kayla scrunching her button nose in disapproval. “That’s that? What about your girlfriend? You sound like you were in love.”

“She—we were! Only, she and I, um. I guess we were too different in the end. We… broke up.”

“When you say ‘we broke up’, you mean she left you?”

“ _No!_  We just—it was an agreement.”

“Look, sweetheart. I don’t really understand shit about love, but ‘mutual agreement’ don’t look like you look.”

He licked his lips. “Okay, fine, she—was more agreed on it than I was.” His pride faded away as he spoke those words, leaving a dull throb in his chest. “She broke up with me on graduation night.”

Kayla whistled. “I kinda want to call her a bitch, but you look like the sort of guy who’d have a problem with that.”

And he was, even if part of him really wanted to give in to the bitterness. It was just that being mad at Rachel didn’t feel any better than being mad at himself.

“It’s just… who she is, y’know? Has to find the drama in everything. She sang me a song, too.”

“Did she, now?”

“ _Goodbye_ , by Air Supply. They were like, my favourite band, and now I can’t even  _listen_  to them anymore.”

The silence felt loaded, although Finn couldn’t tell whether Kayla felt sorry for him or was just judging his taste in music.

“I guess I… didn’t want to notice,” he said, feeling like he should somehow excuse himself for being so naïve, so misguided, so… pathetic. “She kept acting like everything was fine, like we’d go off in the sunset together, but all along she must’ve known--” his voice cracked.

“She always knew she was going to leave Ohio. That was never a question. Whether I followed or not was a… side issue.” The words made his mouth twist, like swallowing something sour. “And yeah, she—she  _said_  she believed in me, but I think it was out of  _pity_  more than anything else. She—once she… nevermind.”

“You can tell me.”

“Why do you even care?”

“Hey, I spend all friggin’ year at a stupid gas station in  _Indiana._  I can always use some more stories.”

“This one time, we—we were gonna sleep together, and she’d never—and it was a big deal to me, but she was going to go ahead and do it just to… look more grown-up or something. And then when we did it, it was like… it was special, but she went through with it to make  _me_  feel special, and—I should have known back then. That it was always going to be that way. She was always going to have to lend me some of her shine so I would be enough for her. That’s… I don’t think that’s right.”

“Doesn’t really feel like it, no. Not for her, but… not for you either. You should be with someone who thinks you’re special all on your own.”

Finn smiled wanly, not much conviction in it, and she must have seen, because she leaned forward to give his hand a brief squeeze.

“I mean it. You’re an alright fellow, Finn. I’m sure Rache could have done much, much worse.”

“What about you? Aren’t you going to college?” he asked, raising his eyes to hers curiously.

“Ain’t got the brains, ain’t got the money,” she replied chipperly. “It’s not for me, really. I barely made it out of high school. I didn’t do bad, you know? Just… I couldn’t be bothered with it,” she shrugged, with a pretty smile. “Big, wordy books bore me.”

“Sounds fair. And what about… you know. Do you have… someone?”

“Nah. I meet ‘em and wave ‘em bye. Though, there was this… one guy. Couple years ago.”

“Well?”

“Blond, sorta skinny, name of David. Handsome green eyes. He and his family were staying in town for a while in the summer, and we kinda hooked up for a month. When he left, we said we’d keep in touch, but… y’know how things go. I wrote him once, but…” she shrugged helplessly.

“I’m sorry. What a jerk.”

“It’s cool. It wasn’t gonna go anywhere.”

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less though, does it?”

“Nope. Not really.”

They exchanged another tiny, mirthless smile, and Finn supposed that was the moment they began the transition from ‘complete strangers’ to ‘kinda-maybe friends’. They kept talking as they cleared their plates, then sat drinking their coffee in comfortable silence. (Which was totally cool, since his mom hardly ever let him have any, and he could  _totally_  handle it. He was of age and all.)

After they’d finished their coffee, Kayla turned to him and offered to show him the sights.

“I thought you said it was all desert around here?”

“Well, yeah. I’ll show you the sights of the desert.”

It seemed a good idea as any, really. They got into her ramshackle pick-up and drove around for the remainder of the day, aimlessly listening to country rock. When the sun set, they were parked near some of those freaky modern windmills. It should have been the perfect make-out scenario, but instead they were sitting on the hood of the car, watching the windmill sails spin slowly in the light breeze.

After a particularly long stretch of silence, Finn swallowed and spoke to the cooling air. “So what do you people do for fun on a night out?”

“There’s no ‘us people’,” she replied scornfully. “Just me and whoever happens to be in town for the summer. We hang out, sometimes. Go to the movies if anything not overly lame is showing in the one cinema we have. There’s a cowboy dig about a mile from here, lots of beer, lots of music. Loud music. It’s not really fun unless you dance.”

She was quiet for a short while, and when she spoke next her voice was subdued, different.

“If I had a guy, I’d sure love me some dancing now and then.”

Her unhappiness was suddenly tangible, as real as the breeze, and it made Finn’s head spin a little, his heart constrict.

“I’d love to see that cowboy place. Uh, for the beer at least?”

The brightness of her smile was blinding, and it reminded him of a boy who’d once been happy to be paired with him to sing ballads; but that was a long time ago, and the boy was far away.

*

They walked into the bar to a mayhem of checkered shirts, leather boots and violins being sawed away at. Someone practically assaulted them in order to place cheap cowboy hats on their heads, which made Finn laugh, perhaps for the first time since he’d left home. They elbowed their way to the bar, screaming orders that went unheard (not that it mattered, since they only seemed to serve one kind of beer anyway).

A little into his second beer, Finn realised he really liked the place. People were loud and sweaty, but smiling and enthusiastic, and the warm weight of Kayla against his arm was a comforting security blanket in the excitement of being all alone in a country dive, drinking alcohol that he was _so_  not legally entitled to.

Suddenly, the frantic hoedown that had been playing died out, replaced by the first chords of a painfully sappy ballad.

_You fill up my senses, like a night in a forest. Like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain._

He was busy snorting into his glass when he felt Kayla tugging at his other wrist.

“Let’s dance!” she suggested euphorically, face turned longingly towards the couples filling the dancefloor.

“Seriously? But that song’s totally lame--”

She turned around to face him, her expression almost oddly hurt, and for one second, instead of a quirky, in-your-face Indiana chick, she looked like a fifteen year old girl at her first dance.

“—Uh, if you’re not into the Denver. I  _love_  that ‘mountain mama’ song. Mind?” he offered his hand, smiling when she took it with a beam.

“Now, you should probably know I suck at dancing. Like  _really_  suck. I mean, it’s--”

“It’s a slow song, doofus. Just stand and sway,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck, and it was… nice. Nice to be held again by a girl like that, but without Quinn’s coldness, or Rachel’s near-crazy intensity. Maybe that was why he hadn’t really enjoyed slow dancing?

(Except for that one time with Kurt, at their parents’ wedding. That had been nice, also. The warm pressure of Kurt’s hand and the way his eyes had sparkled up at him. Only that was different, right? Because Kurt was a dude. But then, Finn found it hard to believe that he’d used to have a problem with doing things like that. Not when Kurt looked so  _happy_ , the smile on his face as adoring as it used to be in sophomore year, when—but that was probably all in his mind.)

They danced to that Denver song, and the next one. Then there was more beer, and more songs, and more dancing, and by the time they left the bar, all thoughts of his doe-eyed stepbrother had disappeared in the nighttime Indiana air.

*

All in all, it was lucky that Kayla hadn’t drunk nearly as much as him, so she had no problem getting behind the wheel and driving them to her place. But then, Finn reflected, he hadn’t exactly had a _huge_  amount either; it was more the unfamiliar taste of freedom that was making him feel lightheaded and dizzy.

Kayla, it turned out, lived on her own, in a small two-room apartment in a motel owned by her grandfather. As she was parking the car, Finn rummaged in his pockets, closing his eyes and flopping back against the seat a moment later. “Shit. My ID, all my—my stuff is in my car. Back at the gas station.”

She considered this for a moment, head cocked.

“It’s all right. You can crash with me.”

“What? No, I—I can’t, I mean, I can totally get a room, it’s only--”

“Relax, it’s not a problem! Besides my grandpa’ll probably kill ya if you wake him up now.”

That, more than anything, gave Finn pause. He thought about protesting again, but as he was watching Kayla sashay to her door, keys in hand, from somewhere deep inside his mind, Puck’s voice sneered at him,   _Are you a jackass?_ No. Not this time, he wouldn’t be. He set his jaw and, stumbling over his feet a little, he followed her retreating shape.

The suite was small but nicely furnished, and – much like the rest of the motel – smelled a little like someone had been cooking quesadillas in the main courtyard. There was also a faint whiff of something Finn recognised from having smelled it on Santana once or twice.

“Is this… cigar smoke?”

“Yep. Grandpa’s pretty addicted, so when he comes to check on me…” she laughed. “Sorry.” She kicked her shoes off, pouring herself a glass of water, and Finn found himself watching the motions of her throat.

Clearing his own throat in turn, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking around. “Um, so…”

She wasn’t paying attention to him, stripping her t-shirt off carelessly and leaving it on the back of a chair before making her way towards the bedroom. In spite of suddenly feeling very warm, Finn decided to make another attempt.

“I can sleep on the couch, no problem. It looks way more comfortable than my car seat, and back before my mom and I moved houses I had this bed that was like way too short for me, right, and--”

Still on the threshold, she turned around, breaking into his rambling with a coy smile. “My bed’s kinda big.”

Finn blinked, because even being as naïve as he was, he could tell what that sounded like… he just wasn’t sure it  _meant_  what it  _sounded_ like. Even with the dancing, and the open-hearted talks, this was pretty damn sudden.  _And then again_ , he thought caustically,  _not as sudden as a schoolmate deciding to sleep with you to gain status._

“Um, I—I mean, it’s… that’s your room, I can’t just, y’know, barge in and stuff?”

She smiled and walked to him, slowly. “Consider yourself a guest upon special invitation,” she said, before standing up on tiptoe and kissing him, deep and messy and  _wow_ , he was totally getting laid tonight.

It was uncanny and surprising and kind of really awesome and sorta totally weird, and it… it wasn’t what he usually did—who he  _was._

But then, if he’d had any idea who he was, he would still be in Lima, instead of a dimly-lit motel apartment that smelled like smoke and Mexican food. And yes, he was still grieving over the tragic demise of Finchel, as it were, and probably getting close to someone wasn’t the best idea, but _dude._  Kayla was hot, and nice to him, and why couldn’t he get  _someone_  who actually liked him?

Kayla clearly knew her way around things, but Finn didn’t know how to deal with that, never had, back with Santana either. His hands were gentle as they followed the curves of her body. He knew the motions well enough, but something still felt strange and foreign. At least he’d  _known_  Santana, sharp tongue and all.

Still kissing, they moved towards the bed as if pulled by invisible, taunting strings. She sat him down and er small hands cupped his face, pulling him  forward to rest between the swells of her breasts, and he exhaled, shaky and hot, his throat sandpaper-rough.

Wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her onto the bed was easy—she was small, light, barely present in his embrace like Rachel had been—

_Don’t think about her._

Maybe it was because of the associations, but there was a strange, bittersweet ache in this, making his heart throb and his breath catch. Still his body didn’t miss a beat, crawling on the bed after her, hands fumbling at his belt as Kayla tugged at his worn t-shirt.

(There was a moment of blind, staggering panic when he found himself – somehow – almost naked above her, but she just smiled and slipped a hand into his briefs and that was all the grace he could have hoped for, really.)

They didn’t speak; there was no need to. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. Kayla’s body arched into his like a rising tide, warm and buttery-soft under his hands, her legs falling open easily as their mouths slid against the other’s, slick-wet heat and thrillingly unknown texture.

She pressed a condom into his hand and he ripped the package open with shaking fingers, anxiety almost making itself heard through the layers of arousal and tipsiness and just utter blown-mind-ness. She, however, had all the sureness he lacked, firm little body pinned underneath his sprawling one.

(For a moment he almost resented that, her diminutive size, just like he had with Rachel—he was always so  _petrified_  of making the wrong move and just  _crushing_  something, but when he’d voiced that concern to Puck and Sam he’d only gotten weird looks in return.)

Their coming together was a little awkward at first, their unacquainted bodies taking a while to fall into sync, but when they did, it was good—for him, if nothing else—heat and friction and closeness and slightly frantic motions taking them to the edge. He finished before she did, but used his fingers after he pulled out, and he could tell from the moan she released against his neck and the blush that spread on her chest she’d got there, too.

When they disentangled, he wondered what was to come; if she’d ask him to go sleep on the couch or just plain kick him out or ask him to go buy a late-night burger. Or maybe, he wondered with a mixture of longing and panic, she’d nestle into his side and make pillow-talk?

She did none of those things, though. Instead, she kissed his cheek and turned on her side, asleep in a matter of seconds. Finn was not sure for how long he watched her before succumbing to sleep – his mind filled with half-formed thoughts and white noise – but it felt like a significantly longer time.

*

Kurt wasn’t sure how many times he’d reread that painful, irritating, simple text. A lot, for sure.

That didn’t stop him from firing up his cell phone every ten minutes and reading it all over again:

_Hey Kurt. I know u’re probably mad at me for just leaving but I’m ok & there’s nothing 2 worry about. Just need 2 be on my own. Pls try 2 get mom not to worry either. I’ll be fine, promise. Good luck in NY.:]_

His heart squeezed up again, torn between anger, panic and guilt, as it did with each re-read.

Just the one text. Just those few, cursory words shot off from God-knew-where at some point in the morning, and then nothing.

_Nothing._

Finn could be anywhere. Could have been attacked, assaulted, kidnapped or otherwise harmed by _anyone._  Anything could have happened to him.

(Mercedes insisted that was an overly dramatic interpretation of events, but Kurt was unable to interpret things without adding a little flair. Perhaps he’d just been spending too much time around Rachel.)

How could he just  _leave_  like that?  _The jackass_ , Kurt thought, feeling resentment bubble up hotly inside him,  _doesn’t he have a heart?_  Carole had been—well, upset was an understatement. She wasn’t usually a paranoid mother, but seeing her son disappear into nowhere after having lost his father so tragically… it was a blow.

She and Burt had been driving around town the whole day, asking everyone if they’d seen or heard anything from Finn. Kurt had been on the phone all day, trying to get information out of anyone in Glee club who might know – he’d been sure Puck might be in on it, but as it turned out, in spite of being rather proud of Finn’s sudden shenanigan, he came up blank.

Kurt hit the ‘call’ button on his phone and waited, his hopes very much low, and yet still listening intently.

No answer.

He was tempted to chuck his phone across the room, but he knew just how much it cost, so refrained at the last moment. He got up, pacing nervously; when he passed by his desk, he kicked the chair viciously, then cursed at himself.

Of course, even abusing furniture had to remind him of stupid  _Finn_.

His father had tried to calm them down, telling Carole that boys Finn’s age were hot-headed and temperamental, and he’d probably be back before the week was over. Kurt willed himself to believe those words, putting on an even, reassuring smile for his stepmother’s sake.

However, there was something off with all this. Finn was temperamental, yes, but when he was feeling angry, he kicked chairs. Or punched people. Sometimes even yelled and called them near-unforgivable words, he thought bitterly. But he didn’t just…  _skip town_  over nothing. He would never do that, not to the people who cared about him…

…unless he was convinced that  _nobody_  cared about him, of course.

Kurt tried to remember if he’d done anything that could be construed in that way, but came up blank. In fact, he came up blank whenever he tried to remember  _any_  sort of activity he’d shared with Finn in the last couple months, besides family time.

**TBC**

Brushing those thoughts away, he climbed into his bed, iPhone carefully plugged in and turned on, just  _in case._

He thought that, just this once, he wouldn’t mind being woken up at 3 in the morning.


End file.
